


Dust On Old Photographs

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [28]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1994, Cheese toasties, Forest of Dean, M/M, Post-Prisoner of Azkaban, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:25:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He may be older, and worse for wear, but he remembers this. Oh, he remembers this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust On Old Photographs

**Author's Note:**

> Week 28

Remus goes to see his father. They make cheese toasties and eat them in the sitting room, Lyall in the huge leather armchair and Remus on one side of the faded yellow sofa. Afterwards, he goes upstairs and pads quietly down the hall to the third door on the right. Easing it open, he breathes in the smell of dittany.

There is still a bed here, and the covers aren't dusty. Neither is the surface of the desk, which bears deep scratches and pockmarks, even after dozens of spells. And in the corner is a bookshelf. Remus crosses to it and runs his fingers over the tattered spines, humming the names in his head, _Dickens, Stoker, Tolkien, Shelley, Twain._ His mother's Muggle books. There, the chair with the wobbly leg that he would sit in on waning gibbous mornings, inhaling the stories and using them to bind himself together again.

Early afternoon sunlight comes in through the narrow window to illuminate the only decoration on the walls, a photograph in a blue plastic frame. Remus looks at it, even though he doesn't need to, since it never changes. His mother didn't want to trade her heritage for magic, so she kept her photos still and quiet. In this one she sits on the back steps of this very house and lures a duck with a bit of bread. Next to her, a small boy with stick-limbs, all knees, stares up at her. He holds a slightly burnt cheese toastie with one corner missing.

His mind made up, Remus gives the books a farewell sigh, hugs his father, and Disapparates.

\---

It's been two weeks since the Shack, one since he got the owl. The letter it carried has spent those seven days on the kitchen table, the windowsill, the cluttered mantel. He knows it by heart—all five words. _Forest of Dean, northern edge._ All four of them spent a weekend there before the start of their seventh year.

Sirius is nowhere in sight, but there is a Hippogriff, and Remus remembers the stream nearby. He walks the hundred yards and sees a man crouched on the bank, facing away, his head bent close to the water.

"Sirius," he says, as softly as he can.

Sirius still startles, shooting to his feet and turning, every muscle taut. His hands flutter uselessly in a search for a wand that no longer exists—snapped thirteen years ago, most likely. After a moment he stills and simply stares.

The reason that he has delayed this for a week, Remus reflects, is that he didn't know what he would do in this moment. There's no traitor here, no children, no full moon. This kind of wide-open space between heartbeats has always seemed frightening. What to say? What _can_ he say? It's difficult to look past the wild, elbow-length hair and skeletal face. Hard to find Sirius in there, underneath Azkaban.

"Remus," Sirius says. His voice is like the scratch of a bandage over a wound.

Still they can only stand there, barely able to make eye contact. The moment stretches and stretches, becoming awkward, and Remus fumbles for something, anything, to break the tension. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," he manages at last, sounding horribly stiff.

Sirius shrugs. The gesture looks strangely unnatural. His eyes travel over Remus's patched robes, his scuffed shoes, and, briefly, his face. "Sorry for not finding you sooner."

There are several yards between them, almost a mile, it seems to Remus. "You don't," he starts. Deep breath. "You don't have to apologize for that." There are words stuck in his throat, the ones he couldn't say in graveyards or beneath the moon, piling up, clamoring to be spoken. "I—"

"—missed you."

There are no more false starts. They rush forward, pushing the very air aside to reach each other. Remus pulls Sirius close and holds him there. He breathes him in, wet dog even now, mixed with dirt and leaves. This body pressed against his is familiar and he knows it—has ached for it. He may be older, and worse for wear, but he remembers this. Oh, he remembers this. Their chests hitch together and only then does Remus realize that he's crying. Not the great gasping sobs that used to rip out of him, but quiet, steady tears like rain. He holds on tighter.

Sirius is crying, too, little breaths that are strikingly similar to the snuffles of a dog. He buries his face in Remus's shoulder and clings with the need of a drowning man. His grip is strong, painful even, but Remus understands the unreal feeling that if they separate, they'll both disappear.

"I'm here," he whispers, "I'm here." He finds that he is no longer treading water. His head breaks the surface; he can breathe. He gulps lungful after lungful of the freshest air in the world as both of their pulses slow, beating together now.

They might stand there forever, lost in the sensation of chins on shoulders, but Sirius pulls away. He sniffs and runs a hand through his hair—as well as he can when it's so tangled. He smiles. "Thanks for coming." His face pinches for a moment, but then smoothes over with a deep breath.

"I shouldn't have waited," Remus says, feeling worse now that he can see the sharp wrists and sunken cheeks.

Again, Sirius shrugs. "I don't blame you. I've been thinking, and there's a lot to sort through—"

Suddenly Remus shakes his head. "Let's save it," he says. Sirius is right, they have a lot to talk about, but he doesn't want to cry again today. "I brought food."

"You did?"

It's the same instant attentiveness that Remus used to thrill at, the crackling energy—only now Sirius's eyes don't light up, but go sharp like a dog trained on a squirrel. "Of course I did." He lets go of Sirius's hands and reaches into his bag. "Cheese toasties," he says, holding up the last two sandwiches.

Sirius laughs, bark-like, and there he is, softer lines around his eyes already. He takes one of the sandwiches and bites into it eagerly, letting out a moan that's almost indecent. "Thanks," he says with his mouth full as he sits down on the grassy bank.

Remus sits beside him. "Don't mention it." The water of the stream fractures the bright sunlight and sets his eyes to burning. He tries to focus on that instead of all the thoughts filling his head, but isn't very successful. He pulls up a fistful of grass and shreds it.

"It can't be easy," begins Sirius, who has finished his sandwich in record time. His eyes are on the grass scraps.

Once again, Remus stops him. "Please don't."

Sirius sighs, but nods. After a moment, he says, "You haven't eaten yours."

"What?" Remus looks at his hand, the one without grass stains, and sees that he's still holding the last cheese toastie. "It's for you, idiot."

"Oh."

Not until Sirius is done eating does Remus speak again. "Will you track down Peter now?" he asks.

"Not sure," Sirius says. His gaze flickers to Remus's face and away. "He could be anywhere."

"Where do you think you'll go until you decide?"

"I'm a fugitive, Remus," Sirius says. He turns a small, smooth rock from the stream over and over in his hands, the bones visible in every movement. "I can't wait around. Leaving the country's probably my best bet."

"I agree." He does. It hurts anyways.

Sirius looks up, surprised. "You do?"

"Of course. You have to stay safe." Remus tilts his head back, letting his face grow warm. "I just hope you'll write."

"I'll try," Sirius says, smiling slightly.

"If you don't," Remus warns, "I'll have to find you and pay you a visit. To cut your hair, at the very least." He reaches out to tug at one of the tangles but tries to pull back at the last moment, and ends up with a hand on Sirius's shoulder. He quickly withdraws.

Sirius watches him with a pensive expression, chewing on his bottom lip. At last he says, "I hope you will. Visit, I mean. Don't touch my hair." He grins, but it fades. "I really did miss you, Moony."

For a long time after that, things are quiet between them. This isn't the heavy, fraught silence from before, though; it's easier to bear by far. Remus can almost feel some part of himself falling back into place. Something to do, he thinks, with the warmth of the sunlight mixing with the warmth of Sirius's hand as it moves to cover his own.


End file.
